


Something to Protect

by Sass_Master



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Universe, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Sleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 02:39:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18730057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sass_Master/pseuds/Sass_Master
Summary: Dean’s violent reaction to being unexpectedly woken has become something of a running joke among them, but Castiel can’t help but look past it to the underlying cause. It makes him ache to think that Dean feels so unsafe, so persecuted, before he’s even fully conscious.Secretly, Castiel has been determined to work on that, to ease Dean into awareness in a less jarring way, smooth away one of the many stresses that follow him even in sleep. Now’s as good a time as any to try.





	Something to Protect

**Author's Note:**

> This wasn't supposed to be anywhere near this long, but what else is new.

Nothing has taught Castiel patience – or tested his patience – like spending so much of his time with humans.

They’re halfway through a lengthy trip home, and it’s not that Castiel minds the drive, exactly. But considering he used to be able to travel anywhere in an instant, this kind of travel just feels like it takes so _long_ , and he’s started to get restless, more than ready to be home.

He’s been loitering in the motel parking lot for as he can get away with before drawing suspicion, waiting for Sam and Dean to finally emerge.

He’s relieved when Sam’s door swings open across the way. “Hey, Cas,” Sam says when he joins Castiel, greeting him with a tired half smile.

Castiel nods in acknowledgement before Sam tosses his bag into the trunk.

“Heard anything from Dean?” Sam asks, glancing towards the rooms.

“No.”

Sam frowns and checks his watch. “Is he really still asleep?”

Castiel focuses his attention on the closed door to Dean’s room, not sensing that he’s awake or detecting any movement with his superior sense of hearing. “It seems that way,” Castiel replies.

“Was hoping we’d be outta here by now,” Sam says with an impatient sigh.

Castiel certainly sympathizes.

Sam digs out his cell phone and dials, sighing again when Dean’s familiar answering message plays. “Of course his phone’s off,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. “Could you go wake him up?”

Castiel blinks. “Me?”

“Yeah. I’m getting really sick of him biting my head off every time I try.”

“And it’s terribly fun for me, I suppose?” Castiel replies, not bothering to suppress his sarcasm.

“No, of course not,” Sam replies, looking slightly chastened. “But at least if he puts a bullet through you, you’ll live to tell about it.”

Castiel considers his response for a moment, but he finds that logic hard to argue with.

“Thanks, Cas,” Sam interjects, lips quirking in one corner, but still looking at least a little apologetic.

He still shoots Sam an exasperated look, one Sam laughs off fondly, as he strides past, headed for Dean’s room.

Castiel tries knocking first – hopefully not loud enough to be alarming – and listens closely for any signs that Dean’s finally woken up. “Dean?” He tries knocking again, but after another few beats, there’s still no response, so he has no choice but to use his grace to silently work the lock open, slipping into the room and carefully shutting the door behind him.

He observes Dean for a second – sprawled face down and fully-clothed on the bedspread again, shoes not even removed – and clears his throat. “Dean?” It’s a delicate balance, raising his voice enough to get through to Dean but keeping it subdued enough to avoid startling him into a violent, half-conscious reaction. That’s become something of a running joke among them, but Castiel can’t help but look past it to the underlying cause, and it makes him ache to think that Dean feels so unsafe, so persecuted, before he’s even fully conscious.

Secretly, Castiel has been determined to work on that, to ease Dean into awareness in a less jarring way, smooth away one of the many stresses that follow him even in sleep. Now’s as good a time as any to try.

Castiel takes a few steps towards Dean’s bed, looking for signs of distress. He’s surprised but pleased to find none, considering the state he was in last night.

This last hunt could have gone a lot better. Unfortunately, there’d been an additional victim that could have been saved if they’d only had the right information at the right time. Everyone’s spirits were low. But Dean, of course, took it much harder than Sam and Castiel combined. Logic says that they did the best they could with what they had, that these kinds of losses, sadly, just come with the territory in their line of work, but logic is rarely convincing to Dean in these situations.

Once they left town, he brooded in near-silence for the entire day’s drive, renting a separate room for himself as soon as they arrived at the motel and holing up inside for the rest of the night. Castiel never likes leaving him alone when he’s like that, but he wasn’t about to deny Dean his space.

Castiel’s relieved to see that Dean even managed to sleep at all. He hates to disturb him. If it were up to him, he’d let Dean stay here for a while longer, but their time in the motel is running out. It’s rare for Dean to look this peaceful, although Castiel knows from experience that the hand shoved under his pillow is probably wrapped tightly around the grip of a gun.

“Dean,” he tries again, a little louder, but all he gets is a slight furrowing of Dean’s brow, the faintest squirm before he falls still again.

Horribly aware of the risk he’s taking, not with his physical person but with his relationship with Dean, Castiel gives into the urge to gingerly sit on the bed beside him. He belatedly justifies his actions as not wanting Dean to wake to the startling sight of someone looming over him, but even he knows that excuse is flimsy.

He tries Dean’s name again, daring to gently, cautiously place a hand on Dean’s back. He’s relieved when Dean doesn’t wake up abruptly and flinch away, recoiling because he thinks it’s a threat – or even just because it’s Castiel touching him.

Castiel’s learned not to take that reaction personally, to not take the rejection of affectionate gestures as disinterest. He’s begun to suspect that Dean’s _too_ interested, too in desperate need of such contact that he sometimes can’t handle it when he gets it, won’t allow himself to enjoy it. Especially from Castiel.

Castiel takes another moment to simply observe him, to appreciate how… _alive_ he feels even when he’s so still, his breathing soft and even, heartbeat steady, body warm beneath Castiel’s fingers. “Dean.”

He gets a faint mumble in reply this time, Dean’s grip on his pillow tightening for just a second before slackening again. Emboldened, Castiel allows the barest movement of his hand, just a tiny stroke up and down, as much of a soothing and innocuous action as he can make it.

Dean stirs further, and when Castiel tries his name again, Dean twitches awake with a sharp, audible breath – not as calm as Castiel would like, but a far cry from the aggressive response he’s come to expect from waking Dean. Castiel can admit he’s a little proud.

Dean twists away from the pillow, finding Castiel’s eyes and blinking slowly. Castiel can’t help but be charmed by the sight of his unkempt hair, the lingering sleepiness softening his face.

“Cas?” he asks, obviously thrown off but staying put, Castiel’s palm still resting between his shoulder blades.

Castiel doesn’t miss the way Dean quickly scans the room, relaxing further when he realizes they’re alone. But then he’s frozen by the expectant look on Dean’s face, not sure how to explain himself, nonetheless reluctant to withdraw his hand. This is where Castiel expects Dean to offer a brusque dismissal, to brush Castiel aside and pretend that Castiel couldn’t feel the way a tender touch soothed the tension in his muscles.

But he doesn’t. And that makes Castiel feel bolder still, content to leave his hand exactly where it is. If Dean can accept the situation without asking for an explanation, then Castiel isn’t going to offer one.

“Sorry to wake you,” Castiel says, keeping his voice low, almost intimate. “But Sam’s ready to leave. We were just waiting for you.”

“Shit, what time is it?” Dean asks, reaching for his phone and checking for himself before Castiel can even answer.

“Don’t worry about it,” Castiel is quick to assure him. “There’s no rush.”

Dean raises an eyebrow at him. “Thought you said Sam was getting antsy?”

Castiel was too, but he’s suddenly in less of a hurry. He offers nothing but an unapologetic shrug in reply, reveling in the laugh that earns him, the conspiratorial smirk.

Dean yawns, scrubbing a hand over his face. “All right, I’m moving,” he says as he sits up, Castiel’s hand finally slipping away. Castiel misses Dean’s warmth immediately, but he really no longer has an excuse to touch Dean that way. “Found another case for us, by the way.”

“Did you?” Castiel asks, though he can’t say that’s entirely unexpected. It’s very like Dean to get _back up on the horse_ as soon as possible.

“Yeah, I’ll fill you in on the drive.”

“All right.”

A tense silence ensues when their eyes meet, their proximity difficult to ignore. “I’ll just—” Dean attempts, and even in the faint light filtering through the threadbare curtains, Castiel can make out a light tinge of pink on his cheeks. But he doesn’t grow irritable at himself, at _Castiel_ , like he sometimes does when they’re in the presence of others. That difference is always intriguing to Castiel, and it’s tempting to see what else Dean will allow when they’re away from prying eyes.

Castiel nods, finally rising from the bed. “I’ll be outside.”

Sam looks at Castiel expectantly when he gets back to the car. “That took a while,” he observes, but before Castiel can figure out a response, he adds, “Didn’t hear any gunshots, though.”

Castiel smiles faintly, trying not to let on how secretly pleased he is. “I must have gotten lucky.”

As predicted, Dean throws himself into the next job with almost unhealthy enthusiasm. After a long, arduous first day of interviews, morgue visits, and preliminary investigation, they’re back at the motel room, Sam snoring in one of the beds while Dean stubbornly keeps at the research. Castiel sits beside him and helps for a while, but by now he’s gotten distracted by how obviously worn out Dean is, hunched over a lore book with newspapers spread around him, clicking away on the laptop.

“Dean,” Castiel attempts. “It’s late. Maybe you should call it a night?”

Dean barely grunts in reply, not tearing his eyes away from the computer screen. “Don’t have any leads yet.”

Castiel suppresses the urge to sigh in exasperation. “Aren’t you tired?” he asks instead, scrutinizing Dean’s face, heart sinking at the ever-present shadows under his eyes.

“Doesn’t matter,” Dean says, shockingly not denying it. “This is more important.”

“Dean.” Castiel’s tone is much sterner this time, and he stares Dean down until he relents and looks back. “You won’t be able to help anyone if you’re too exhausted to stand up.”

He places his hand on Dean’s shoulder, almost taken in by the desire to increase the pressure of his fingers, let his touch slide up Dean’s neck and into his hair, massage the tension and aches away.

Dean’s jaw tightens, and Castiel braces himself for the inevitable bull-headed protestation. But almost immediately Dean seems to relent, his expression softening as he pushes a book towards Castiel.

“Can you keep looking through this then?”

Castiel’s honestly taken aback for a moment, but he quickly recovers. “Of course,” he promises with absolute sincerity. The fact that Dean is trusting him with this, allowing Castiel to ease his burden so he can take better care of himself, puts warmth in Castiel’s chest.

“Awesome,” Dean says around a yawn, eyelids drooping as if his sleepiness is hitting him all at once now that Castiel has given him permission to feel it.

Dean rises from his seat to get ready for bed, and Castiel shamelessly misses the contact between them. But when Dean comes back from the bathroom, he passes by Castiel’s chair and squeezes his shoulder, a surprisingly heartfelt _Thanks, Cas_ on his lips.

In his periphery, Castiel can see Dean stretch out on the bed, making himself comfortable. “Wake me up if you find anything,” he says, words half-muffled against a pillow.

“No,” Castiel deadpans, not even looking away from the tome he’s flipping through. He intends it as a joke, but there’s no denying the underlying truth.

Dean snorts in amusement and doesn’t argue, falling asleep within minutes.

Castiel keeps at it for a while, highlighting relevant passages and bookmarking promising websites, but the longer Castiel sits there, the more he can tell that Dean’s sleep isn’t particularly restful.

He knows that, despite what Dean is willing to admit to, nightmares are a common occurrence for him. Castiel has sensed Dean’s distress like this countless times. He gets it from Sam too, sometimes, but he’s usually quite calm compared to Dean, not to mention the fact that Dean’s fear and discomfort lance through Castiel in a way that Sam’s don’t – louder in general, perhaps, but certainly louder to Castiel.

Castiel gets up and moves closer to the bed. He merely observes at first, heart aching at the uneasiness he radiates, intent on banishing whatever harrowing visions are tormenting him. While Castiel’s not sure of the specific source of his unrest – he could find that out easily, but he won’t invade Dean’s privacy like that – he’s uncomfortably aware that the list of potential nightmare scenarios for Dean is nearly endless.

Castiel knows that physical contact isn’t strictly necessary for soothing Dean’s bad dreams, but he can’t help reaching out, drawn in by Dean’s lovely face, fingers brushing his cheek and resting gingerly on his temple. Before he’s even able to let his grace through, Castiel notices that Dean’s stress has begun to abate, that he relaxes even further when Castiel touches him with more confidence, leaning into it when Castiel’s palm cups his cheek.

With a brief glance over his shoulder to make sure Sam’s still asleep, Castiel dares to once again sit down beside Dean, in awe of the soft noise of contentment he makes when Castiel tentatively strokes his hair.

Castiel thinks about this a lot—how Dean responds to gentle affection when his ever-present defenses are down. He’s seen it enough times, whether Dean is awake or not, to be certain of what he’s seeing, how Dean flinches away from and leans into a tender touch almost simultaneously because having those long-buried desires fulfilled is almost too much for him to bear.

He thinks about what it would be like if he gave Dean this kind of affection for real, tempted by the dangerous knowledge that Dean would likely allow it. Maybe is even craving it as much as Castiel is.

As much as Castiel wants to stay with Dean all night, he thinks better of it, not wanting to embarrass Dean if he should wake up. But he stays until he’s sure Dean’s fully asleep, breaths steady and deep, before returning to his research.

The hunt ends up dragging on in a way Castiel did not expect and does not especially welcome; the endless days of investigation, he could do without, but he doesn’t exactly mind the repeated evenings at Dean’s side.

“So what do you do all night, exactly?” Dean asks him one night as he climbs into bed – Castiel’s pleased to see that Dean’s taking care to make himself comfortable, rather resorting to his typical careless sprawl across the bedspread. Castiel vainly thinks he might have had something to do with it.

Castiel watches Dean from the chair near the bed, fascinated by the almost innocent curiosity in Dean’s eyes as he stares back at Castiel, wrapped up cozy and secure in the blankets.

Castiel quirks an eyebrow, a smirk threatening to form on his face. “Watch over you, of course,” he replies, hoping his tone is flippant enough for the sentiment to pass as a joke.

“Oh right, duh,” Dean teases, expression relaxing into a faint smile as his eyes begin to drift closed. “Well, keep up the good work, I guess.”

Castiel knows that’s only a throwaway remark. He makes a private, solemn promise to follow through anyway. “Good night, Dean.”

“Night, Cas,” Dean murmurs, sleepy smile widening as he dozes.

That Dean falls asleep in record time doesn’t escape Castiel’s notice for a second. But it’s not until he finally tears himself away from the peaceful picture Dean makes that he spots Dean’s gun resting on the tabletop in front of him.

By the time the case is over, Dean’s looking better than he had when they’d started. It’s not unusual for him to perk up at the prospect of heading home, but he’s also looking significantly more well-rested than he does after a long week of work. Castiel’s grown used to him shuffling to the car still haggard and gray, even the relief of a job well done not quite enough to cut through his exhausted prickliness.

This morning Dean greets Castiel with a smile as he joins him in the parking lot, and Castiel feels his heart leap at the sight of it, needing to look away briefly to stifle the flurry of emotion that surges through him when their eyes meet.

“Hey, Cas.”

“Good morning,” he replies, composing himself. “Did you sleep well?” It’s not like he doesn’t already know the answer, how peacefully Dean rested with Castiel keeping an eye on him.

“Yeah, I did,” Dean says, something tender in his expression that has Castiel’s heart rate picking back up. “I—”

Dean cuts off abruptly at the sound of Sam swinging the motel door open. He huffs out a shaky laugh and doesn’t say anything else, another inscrutable look on his face as he claps Castiel on the arm, an ostensibly friendly gesture that lingers then slips away, quick but almost reluctant, as Sam joins them.

Castiel knows he’s not imaging the fact that something feels different between the two of them once they get back to the bunker. He misses it shamefully, the convenient excuse he had when they were on the road to spend as much time with Dean as possible, that unspoken intimacy that came with Castiel maintaining a steady presence even while Dean slept.

Castiel still sees Dean throughout the day, has to fight to keep his expression and tone neutral as he bids good night to him in the evening and watches Dean wander off without him.

He has a way to pass the time until morning, at least, retiring to the TV room to watch a few more episodes of the show that Dean is very insistently trying to get him into.

He senses Dean’s presence a moment before he strides into the room, but he’s still caught somewhat off-guard by his sudden appearance.

“Hey,” Dean says with a casual tone that doesn’t come off as natural, parking himself on the sofa next to Castiel rather than taking the armchair as he often does.

“Hello,” Cas replies, tilting his head curiously. “I thought you went to sleep.”

He certainly remembers Dean saying as much, and he’s glad to see that Dean’s actually made the effort of putting on comfortable clothing before doing so.

“Tried,” Dean says with a shrug, not meeting Castiel’s eye. “Been sleeping kinda rough lately.”

Castiel furrows his brow in thought. “Really? I didn’t notice anything when we were staying in the motel.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean says and trails off, as if that answer is explanation enough.

Castiel would chastise himself for daring to hope that he was the reason Dean slept better – or that Dean’s lying about his restlessness as an excuse to spend time with him – but the faint yet unmistakable blush on Dean’s face is rather telling.

Dean squirms under Castiel’s intense gaze and fixates on the television screen instead. “Dude, you’re watching without me?”

Castiel blinks at the unexpected note of _betrayal_ in Dean’s words. “You said I had to catch up before the new season started.”

“Well, yeah,” Dean says, exasperated. “But you have to catch up _with_ me.”

Castiel doesn’t recall that being part of the rules, but he knows better than to try pointing that out to Dean when he’s in one of these moods.

Dean shoots him an unimpressed look and grabs the remote, scoffing when he starts the episode over. “See?” he asks, elbowing Castiel in the side. “This one’s nothing but lame filler. Coulda warned you if I was here.”

Castiel squints at the screen. “…So we should skip it?”

Dean scoffs again. “Course not. It’s part of the _experience_. What’re you in such a hurry for anyway?”

Castiel shoots Dean a look this time, but very charitably does not mention that Dean was the one rushing him to watch in the first place. He allows his gaze to linger, the ghost of a smile creeping onto his face as Dean flushes ever so slightly under the scrutiny, even while stubbornly directing his attention at the television.

After that episode ends – it _was_ rather boring, Castiel has to admit – they start up another one that Dean seems much more enthusiastic about. Nevertheless, it’s not more than ten minutes in that Castiel notices Dean supplying commentary less and less frequently, eventually falling silent altogether. It’s not until Dean’s head droops onto Castiel’s shoulder that he confirms that Dean has indeed nodded off.

Castiel shifts under Dean’s weight sagged against him, thinking. He certainly doesn’t mind letting Dean use him for a pillow, but he worries he can’t be sure if _Dean_ would allow this if he knew.

Castiel leaves him be at first, suspecting he’ll eventually rouse again, especially when the abnormally loud opening sequence from the next episode starts. But even then, Dean remains undisturbed, leaning more heavily against Castiel, breath growing slower and deeper.

Castiel hates to wake him, but he knows Dean can’t stay in this awkward position for long without creating discomfort later on. Not that Castiel couldn’t fix that easily—though maybe that’s a selfish thought more than anything else. Surely Dean wouldn’t want Castiel to leave him this way. Right?

Castiel opts to be safe rather than sorry, even as a nagging voice in his head insists that Dean is obviously more tolerant, even desirous, of this kind of closeness than he lets on. “Dean,” Castiel attempts, a low murmur that’s still loud enough to be heard over the TV. “Dean?” When he gets no response, he places a hand on Dean’s shoulder, only for him to make a soft noise and curl closer to Castiel. Castiel holds his breath for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest.

He slides his fingers up to settle on the nape of Dean’s neck, calling his name again, brushes his thumb against Dean’s throat and feels the flutter of his pulse as Dean slowly stirs at last.

“Cas?”

Dean’s eyelids are heavy and sleepy, his features relaxed, and the fact that he doesn’t immediately wrench himself away from this intimacy makes Castiel feel daring, giving in to the urge to let his fingers brush through Dean’s hair. His heart beats faster when Dean sighs contentedly at the gesture, briefly closing his eyes and leaning into the touch.

When they look at each other again, Dean’s more awake, the expression on his face inscrutable. Castiel freezes, afraid of ruining the moment, equally wary of pushing too far and of pulling away from what could be a long-awaited opportunity.

After the silence drags on a beat too long, Castiel clears his throat; the lingering uncertainty in Dean’s eyes, almost entirely buried beneath a myriad of conflicting emotions, is enough to convince him to tread lightly.

“You’re obviously tired,” Castiel says, trying to mask his reluctance as he withdraws his hand.

“I thought—” Dean starts, voice hoarse. “We, uh…” He trails off, eyes cutting towards the television.

“We can watch tomorrow,” Castiel reassures him. “If you want,” he adds, wondering if Dean can hear the underlying meaning in that promise.

“Yeah, okay,” Dean agrees, and Castiel knows he doesn’t imagine that flicker of _something_ on Dean’s face, vanished as soon as Castiel could detect it. Dean gingerly sits up, licking his lips. Cas clenches his jaw, trying not to stare at what he knows is a reflexive, nervous gesture—because for all his self-control, that’s not a sight he’s immune to. He hasn’t been for a long time. “See ya tomorrow, Cas,” Dean adds as he rises from the sofa.

“Good night, Dean,” Castiel dutifully replies as Dean slips from the room with one last glance in Castiel’s direction.

When he’s gone, Castiel exhales shakily and reaches for the remote, watching the TV screen go blank. His entertainment may be gone, but the confusing mix of emotions rattling around in his brain is more than enough to keep him occupied until morning.

Predictably, Dean seeks Castiel out the next evening, intent on picking up where they left off. Less predictably, he suggests that they watch in his bedroom instead.

“My TV’s better,” Dean insists, but the almost imperceptible waver in his voice tells Castiel all he needs to know about how this ostensibly casual offer is anything but.

Castiel is so aware of what he’s being let in on, being invited into the sanctity of Dean’s room like this, so aware of Dean’s presence beside him in a close, private space.

Dean’s bed is too small for an appropriate amount of distance between them as they sit leaning against the headboard, but if Dean’s all right with it, Castiel’s certainly not about to complain.

Castiel can feel Dean’s eyes on him at key points in the show’s plot, looking for a reaction – or, sometimes, glancing in his direction for seemingly no reason at all, darting away as soon as Castiel dares to glance back.

A couple of episodes in, Castiel can sense Dean’s attention waning, his posture relaxing as he dozes off and slips down from his sitting position. He seems to be incrementally pressing himself closer to Castiel, as if to get more comfortable, in a way that Castiel can’t be sure is unconscious. He lets Dean sleep this time, turns the television off and carefully extricates himself, exiting the room as quietly as possible.

Dean marches up to him the next morning, pointing a playfully accusing finger in his direction. “You bailed on me while we were watching our show.”

Castiel rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “You fell asleep.”

“Still,” Dean snorts, the mock outrage on his face abruptly melting into something that Castiel can’t interpret – maybe Dean doesn’t know what it is either. “At least say good-bye next time.”

Castiel takes that under advisement when the opportunity presents itself. When Dean sleepily curls up beside him, Castiel allows a few minutes to pass, wondering if he’ll wake up on his own. Dean only slides further down the headboard and closer to Castiel, head practically in his lap.

Staying like this all night would suit Castiel just fine, but Dean’s feelings are still just mysterious enough to leave room for doubt. He says Dean’s name instead, fingers brushing Dean’s cheek as he starts to stir, leaning into Cas’s touch.

Castiel keeps his hand where it is as Dean wakes fully, twisting around so his eyes meet Castiel’s. Castiel wonders what else Dean would allow when it’s just the two of them like this, what kind of intimacy he’s been craving but is too afraid to ask for, would welcome if Castiel initiated. What he might be tempted to initiate himself if his tendency toward repression and denial wasn’t so deeply entrenched.

Castiel clears his throat against the urge to cup Dean’s face in his hands, stroke his fingers through Dean’s hair, though his suspicions that Dean would welcome that are almost entirely confirmed. “I’m saying good night now.”

Dean hesitates, almost seems to reach for Castiel before pulling his hand away at the last moment, swallowing hard and averting his eyes. “G’night.”

“I’ll see you in the morning,” Castiel feels compelled to promise, stomach flipping at the slow, sleepy smile that spreads across Dean’s face.

“Yeah,” he murmurs as Castiel gets up from the bed, hugging the now-available pillow close to his chest, eyes slipping closed again. “See you then.”

Almost too soon they are officially _caught up_ on their show. Castiel watches in uncertainty as the credits roll on the most recent available episode, wondering what this means for their nightly routine. But the post-season discussion – a mandatory ritual, according to Dean – easily turns into more aimless conversation. It’s primarily Dean talking most times, seizing the chance to ramble on about what he likes, relive memorable anecdotes, share what’s on his mind. Castiel’s happy to listen, because it seems to mean something to Dean to have that. And because Castiel finds his enthusiasm and non-sequiturs hopelessly charming.

That isn’t to say that Dean dominates the conversation entirely. He quite vocally encourages Castiel to share his own stories, voice his own opinions – but even more encouraging than his words is the way Dean focuses on him so intently when he talks. Castiel’s never felt more important or interesting than he does when Dean looks at him with such rapt attention.

It’s late into the night when Dean starts to yawn sleepily – another thing Castiel is terribly charmed by – posture slumped as he fights to stay awake.

“You’re tired,” Castiel points out, trying to mask his own disappointment that the evening has drawn to a close. “I’ll go.”

Castiel swings his legs onto the floor, but before he can get up from the bed, Dean reaches out and touches his arm, shockingly quick for how close he was to falling asleep mere seconds ago. “You don’t have to.”

Castiel considers his words cautiously, not wanting to be presumptuous. “Don’t have to what?”

“You can stay,” Dean clarifies, visibly swallowing and betraying his apprehension, the tentative hope.

Castiel hesitates and lets Dean’s words hang unacknowledged, just in case he has yet to realize what he’s actually said. But after a few beats pass, he makes no attempt to take the offer back.

“All right,” Castiel says. “I’ll stay.”

“Okay,” Dean murmurs, visibly relaxing as Castiel puts his feet up again and settles in more comfortably.

To Castiel’s surprise, Dean’s feeling forward enough to scoot closer, letting his head rest against Castiel’s thigh. Castiel reaches out tentatively, slowed by lingering fear that he may be crossing a line, but they both sigh in relief once his hand settles on Dean’s head, tenderly stroking his hair.

“’Night, Cas,” Dean mumbles, sounding more peaceful and content than Castiel’s ever heard.

Castiel understands the feeling. “Good night, Dean.”

Castiel could easily watch him all night, but he knows that Dean would find that ‘creepy’. Then again, Castiel ponders with some amazement, Dean did invite this, welcomed Castiel’s presence and his touch and his watchful gaze – all of it easily lulling Dean into a deep sleep, hardly a twitch or noise of distress. He almost doesn’t move at all except to situate himself more solidly against Castiel’s side.

Castiel doesn’t want to miss a moment, though a part of him is eager to experience this _with_ Dean, to sit beside him and enjoy this idle, quiet state that they find themselves in too infrequently. His mind drifts as Dean sleeps soundly through the night, finally stirring once the morning is well underway.

Dean wakes slowly, shifting around to find Castiel’s eyes. “Hey,” he says, voice and expression so soft that Castiel can’t quite believe what he’s seeing. That he’s _allowed_ to see this.

“Good morning.”

“You stayed this time,” Dean says, clearing his throat and looking more alert.

“You asked me to,” Castiel replies.

“Right, yeah,” Dean says, and Castiel didn’t anticipate that his response would put tension in Dean’s frame, the openness in his eyes suddenly more guarded.

“I was glad that you did,” Castiel hastens to clarify, feeling the familiar pounding in his chest at the careful, bright smile that those words bring out in Dean.

Dean opens his mouth to reply and is immediately cut off by a knock on the door. “Dean?” Sam calls, understandably expecting Dean to have been awake for some time now.

“Yeah?” Dean answers, and at first Castiel mistakes his stricken expression for panic, but it’s only disappointment, frustration over their moment being shattered.

“Think I might’ve found a case if you wanna take a look.”

“Sure,” Dean replies, maintaining eye contact with Castiel. “Just gimme a sec.” When Sam’s footsteps fade away, Dean smiles at him, a spark in his eyes like a secret. “Want some breakfast?”

Castiel has no need for such things, but with Dean so eager to include him, he’s hardly inclined to refuse.

A couple of hours and a bit of digging later, the possible case turns out to be a dead end. Castiel can’t help but be relieved, not wanting to disturb Dean’s newfound peacefulness, at least for a little while, not wanting to disrupt whatever is developing between them.

He spends the day with Dean, relishing the opportunity to simply be with him without the pressure of a hunt – keeping him company while he works on his car, tagging along on a “snack run” so they’re well-supplied for movie night – all while exchanging these promising, side-long glances that Castiel aches to explore, intrigued by the way Dean lights up when he notices Castiel looking back at him, not shying away at all.

Even when movie night is in full swing and they aren’t entirely alone, Castiel can sense something brewing between them. He sits beside Dean on the sofa, more lost in the memory of Dean falling asleep on him than whatever’s happening in the movie, heart skipping a beat every time Dean lets their knees bump together.

That nebulous but thrilling sense of anticipation comes to a head when they’re finally alone, depositing the snack bowls in the kitchen to be dealt with tomorrow. For a minute they just stand there and look at each other, the atmosphere thick with potential. Castiel searches almost desperately for something to say, but he comes up short.

Dean is the one to finally break the silence. “So,” he says, drawing the word out, pointedly making direct eye contact with Castiel. “Think I’ll go to bed.” He waits a tense beat before adding, “You coming?”

Castiel recognizes the hope in Dean’s question, the fear, the false bravado. The offer for Castiel to _spend the night_ with Dean is as explicit as it’s ever been, yet strangely innocent in its intent.

Castiel holds his gaze steadily. “You want me to?”

Immediately Dean’s posture slumps by an almost imperceptible degree, but Castiel doesn’t miss it. “I mean, you don’t have to or anything.”

Castiel is overcome with the need to ease those insecurities, feeling his own breathing speed up as he steps closer. He tentatively reaches up and takes Dean’s face between his hands, giving him plenty of time to pull away. But the cautious excitement radiates from Dean like a tangible thing, and Castiel knows he no longer has any excuse not to kiss him.

He leans in and presses their lips together, Dean instantly pushing into it with a soft, content sound that Castiel already longs to hear more of. Castiel’s concern about catching Dean off-guard is immediately forgotten as Dean melts against him, deepening their kiss, infusing a hint of heat and passion beneath the overwhelming sweetness of it.

Castiel’s reluctant to pull back, but Dean’s light, carefree laugh makes up for the loss. Dean smiles at him, and Castiel couldn’t stop himself from smiling back even if he wanted to.

Castiel delights in the spark of mischief that flares to life in Dean’s eyes. “So _are_ you gonna come with me, or…”

“Yes,” Castiel promises, again opting for sincerity in the face of Dean’s teasing. His thumb traces Dean’s cheekbone, and Dean’s still smiling even though he’s almost shaking with emotion. “Of course I will.”

Castiel surges forward again, because for all the temptations he’s faced over these past weeks, Dean’s mouth was truly one of the hardest to resist, one he plans on eagerly indulging in now that he’s been given the chance.

They don’t sleep right away, that night. Later, as they finally settle in, Castiel allows himself a moment of reflection. He’s spent the night beside Dean countless times, but now he is properly _in bed_ with Dean, nestled under the blankets, dressed down to what Dean has deemed an appropriate level of comfortable.

This time, when Dean snuggles up against him, Castiel can hold him close like he’s always wanted, run a hand up and down his back the way he already knows Dean enjoys.

Dean closes his eyes and relaxes under Castiel’s touch. “Hey, can you—” Castiel instinctively know what he means, carding his fingers through Dean’s hair and massaging gently, warm all over from the bone-deep sigh that elicits. “God, that’s…”

Dean trails off without elaborating, but Castiel gets the message. He leans down and kisses the top of Dean’s head, tightening his arms around Dean just to feel Dean hold him more tightly in return. “Good night, Dean,” he murmurs. “Sleep well.”

Castiel can feel Dean smile against him when he answers. “I will.”

Castiel smiles back as he lets his eyelids grow heavy, the lure of sleep more appealing than it’s ever been. Knowing that Dean’s at peace, that he’s feeling calm and protected, means that, finally, Castiel can rest too.

 

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone was concerned, I am in fact alive. I am also on [tumblr](http://sass-master-stina.tumblr.com). Thanks for reading! <3


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